


The Talent Show

by WM_WM_WM



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Humor, Inappropriate Humor, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Offensive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WM_WM_WM/pseuds/WM_WM_WM
Summary: It's the annual talent show at Skool! Most kids are going to sing and dance. However, Zim has something else in mind.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	1. Uwu

The cafeteria was packed to the brim! Kids and their parents packed the lunch area to the point where it was getting hard to breathe, despite the air conditioning buzzing at full blast.

"Next!" Ms. Bitters howled, fatigued of all of the kids wailing to pop songs.

Clutching a large chunk of machinery, Dib slunk onto a cleared section of the cafeteria; the skool was too poor to even afford a cheap, small stage. He was thankful there was a microphone.

"Um... Hi, everybody," he mumbled. He stood up on his toes to reach the mic. "My name's Dib, and, um..."

He was distracted by his father, sitting in the front row, giving him vigorous thumbs-ups. Staring into the crowd, he realized all eyes were on him. The cafeteria was well lit with industrial white lights, which rendered every parent and child in excruciating detail. Every square inch of the boy's skin began to feel excruciatingly hot.

"I uh... I made a machine, and, it, um..." His thoughts spiraled; he was aware of how badly he was doing, which only made everything worse. "It can, uh, see ghosts."

He stepped away from the microphone, and turned around, shoe squeaking on the tile. His sweaty hands gripped a power cord. His eyes shakily scanned the walls for an outlet. He gulped, as he faced a hard truth; there was nothing! The device, which was the size of a basketball, shook in his hands.

He stepped back to the microphone, squeaking, "There's no outlet, so, um, I can't, uh, turn it on. Yeah."

Dib gave a quick wave to the crowd, as he dashed to his seat his father saved for him. He collapsed on the cheap, metal, foldable chair, skin blazing to the touch. His eyes were dangerously wet.

"Next year, son," Dad whispered, as Ms. Bitters barked the next child forward.

Zim marched to the microphone, mischievous grin unwavering. He straightened his back proudly, as he snatched the microphone from the stand.

"Hello there, worm-people!" he declared. "My name is Zim, and I will preform the greatest performance that has ever been performed!"

Dib scrunched his eyebrows together, suspicious.

"What's he going to do?" Dib thought, "Is he going to hypnotize everyone with music? Burst our eardrums with high frequencies?"

He, however, planned something much, much, much more sinister.

A familiar combination of drums and synthesizers hummed through the speakers. The children chattered, knowing what was going to happen. They had all seen the video where the audio came from. The adults, however, raised their eyebrows in suspicion of their snickering children. Zim looked like he had been preparing for this moment his whole life. He inhaled into the microphone.

With a grin that stretched antennae to antennae, Zim whispered, "Rawr."

The children burst into laughter! Their theories were proven true; it was the uwu rap! Dib gawked at the raw courage the alien displayed. The adults glanced around, eyes wide, and muttering to their spouses.

"Ecks three nuzzles, pounces on you." He moaned, in a more feminine voice, "Ooh wu, you're so warm."

With a hint of hesitation, he declared, "Couldn't help but notice your mound from across the floor."

Somehow, the censorship made it even more dirty.

"Nuzzles your necky-wecky tilde murr tilde," he slurred, adding a Michael Jackson squeal at the end of the sentence. The next verse was so egregious that, instead of singing, he uttered a pained groan.

He continued in a cute Japanese girl tone, "Take me home, pet me, an' make me yours."

The alien made eye contact with Dib. The two stared at each other, emotions starkly different. Zim grinned a wild, seductive smile.

He moaned in a low, soft voice, "And don't forget to stuff me."

Dib quickly looked down, face redder than ever. His sweaty palms gripped his knees; sweat dripped down his steaming hot face. Dad didn't notice his son's embarrassment, for he was enjoying the song a little too much. Dib's brain churned like traditional butter.

"Why did he look at me?" he desperately thought. "Does he really want to- No, he wants to embarrass me! Unless-"

Zim continued, "See me wag my little baby tail, all for your- I can't say that." In a more cutesy, girlish voice, he stated, "Kisses and lickies your neck."

The alien's gaze pierced Dib's again.

"I hope daddy likies."

Dib's face was about to explode, when suddenly, Ms. Bitters snatched the microphone.

"That's enough!" she roared, as she jabbed a laptop key, cutting off the speakers.

The children erupted in applause, standing up. The adults, not knowing what else to do, politely applauded. Zim bowed dramatically, thanking the audience before scampering to a seat. A few other children were notable, such as Gaz playing the _Spiderman Pizza Theme_ on the recorder, and some child predicting someone's future by claiming they were going to die (fact-check: we all die). Other than Zim's performance, however, there was nothing else that was noteworthy. Soon, it was time to leave. Grabbing his machine under his seat, the Membrane family shuffled with the rest of the tribes out of the cafeteria. The three were steadily trotting down a hallway, when they heard a screeching behind them.

"Dib-human!" the alien called. He sprinted next to the boy, huffing and puffing. "Did you enjoy my serenade? I thought it was much better than your hiccup."

The boy shot back, "Shut up!" Processing what the alien said, he asked, "Wait, _serenade_?" He choked on his spit, as his family members guffawed. "You-" Dib paused to cough, his face becoming red again, "You sang that for me!"

"Yep."

"Goddamnit," Professor Membrane audibly muttered, "My son has more romance than I do."

It was his family's turn to laugh at him. The alien politely chuckled.

"Anyway," Zim declared, scampering in front of the family and walking backwards, "Feel free to share your newfound romantic feelings for me later, Dib-human, for I cannot stand to stay at school any longer!"

The alien weaved around glops of families, as he burst out the door.

Gaz stated, gazing at her brother, "Do you think he's serious?"

"I fucking hope not."

"Language!" Dad chimed.

"You were cursing earlier!" Dib retorted.


	2. Bonus!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ms. Bitters should've learned by now not to give Zim a microphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought up another song that would be really funny, which is why I'm continuing this.
> 
> This chapter uses offensive language.

Another year had passed, which meant it was time for the talent show again. The school still hadn't bought a stage, and the microphone puttered out every so often. The air conditioner had broken a day before the show, which made the packed, lunchroom air stink with sweat. Dib's machine had failed, again, which left him red-faced and wet-eyed brooding in his chair. Students grinned, and parents moaned, as Zim paraded on stage.

"It is I, the Almighty Zim!" he shrieked. "Ms. Bitters said that I couldn't do a _disruptive song_ ," he gave the last words air quotes, "So, instead, I'll do a cool song."

The audience wondered in anticipation, as music blasted through the old, warped speakers. Powerful guitars and a cool bassline pounded the room. Kids looked on in confusion. However, a few adults recognized the song, much to their horror. Synthesizers were soon added onto the musical soup; Zim eagerly tapped his foot with the beat.

An older parent whispered, "Oh my god! Is he really going to sing-"

"Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid!" Zim screeched.

The whole lunchroom went utterly silent. A few kids who didn't know what it meant scrunched their eyebrows in confusion, while the rest of the lunchroom had their mouths wide open.

"Happier than you and me. Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid!- Hey, where's the music?"

Ms. Bitters jabbed a laptop key, abruptly casting the stressed lunchroom in silence. She yowled, "Zim! That's offensive language!"

Zim, with a smug grin, slyly replied, "Oh, _offensive_? What, like nig-"

Zim sat uncomfortably in the Principal's office, trying his best to appear innocent. The small, smoggy office with decades-old paneling was sweltering. The principal, a broad, borderline fat man, scowled at him under his long nose.

"Zim!" he spat, "You can't just say the n-word!"

The alien shuddered under the stern man's steely gaze. Sweat pooled under his wig.

"W-well, why not?" Zim mumbled, nervously grinning.

The principal furrowed his thick eyebrows. "I don't want anyone complaining on social media. You know how cancel culture is!"

Zim crossed his legs, as he spat, "Oh, so you don't care about minorities?"

The older man shifted uncomfortably in his large, leather, office chair. Zim grinned, growing confident he could worm himself out of this problem; he had found a weakness.

"Instead of caring about the poor African Americans being oh-so offended, you instead only care about your reputation online. That's not very-" Zim leered at the man, "Politically correct."

Now, it was the principal's turn to sputter.

"W-well, I, um- You're getting a detention!"

Zim apathetically stood in his chair.

"I'll take that."

The fat man scribbled on a red slip of paper, and the alien snatched it out of his hands.

"Now, get out!" he barked, as Zim scurried off, snickering.

Detention was held in a cramped, stuffy room, filled to the brim with brawny and unscrupulous teens. The plain, aging, grey cement walls were devoid of any inspiration or hope. Zim managed to cram himself in a seat next to Dib, who was tapping his pencil to alleviate his boredom. The young man scowled silently.

"How did you get your big-headed self into skool prison?" Zim asked cheerfully.

Ignoring his insult, Dib lamented, "Apparently, you're not allowed to do presentations on vintage porn." In response to the alien's raised eyebrow, he exasperatedly explained, "It's part of history! Porn films first showed up in the early 1920's."

Zim whistled, digging in his PAK for a pencil.

"See? I could've educated the masses. But no, I got detention because _it has inappropriate content_. Most of history is inappropriate content-"

A bulky, overweight teacher waddled up to the table, and vacuously told them to shut up and do the worksheet she was handing out. Inspecting the piece of paper, Zim decided the best course of action was to turn it over and doodle on the back. He created two figures, one representing himself with handsome antennae, and the other, Dib, with his signature spoke of hair. The stick figures held hands, and had hearts around them. The alien, beaming, slid the backside to his crush. Lifting his head from his worksheet, he glanced at it, and rolled his eyes. Flipping his own piece of paper, he raggedly sketched out himself, and Zim's decapitated head, complete with X's over the eyes. Suddenly, they felt a booming sound from behind them.

"Doodling is not allowed, Dib," the teacher growled.

"But he did it first!" he whiled.

Squinting at him, she barked, "I don't want to hear any more complaining."

Trying to block out Zim's smug smirk, Dib sputtered, "B-but, but..."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to hear this glorious song in it's entirety, go here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6DNdop6pD8


End file.
